


A Visitor In Ambridge.

by Jackmerlin



Category: The Archers (Radio), The Marlows - Antonia Forest
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 18:17:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10882320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jackmerlin/pseuds/Jackmerlin
Summary: Ann, now a newly qualified nurse, is working at a hospital in Birmingham and sharing a house with other nurses and a couple of midwives, one of whom invites her to spend Christmas with her at the Vicarage in Ambridge.





	A Visitor In Ambridge.

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don’t listen to the Archers: Alan is the Anglican Vicar. His first wife died before he moved to the village, leaving him to bring up their daughter Amy. He shocked the more traditional members of his parish by marrying Usha, an Asian solicitor and not a Christian. Although Usha is Hindu, she is presented in the show as what I would call culturally Hindu rather than deeply devout.  
> For those who do - this is set a couple of years ago in Archers-time, when Rob was only just beginning his reign of terror.

It was so rare for all five housemates to come in at the same time that there was almost a party atmosphere around the kitchen table as they made mugs of tea and sank gratefully into chairs. Today the work rotas for the next month had come out, so there was a certain amount of commiseration and congratulation going on as they discussed what shifts they were all working over Christmas. Ann Marlow frowned at the piece of paper in front of her.

“What’s up, Ann?” asked her friend Martha. “Have you got to work Christmas?”

“No. I actually said I wanted to work it, but they’ve given me the whole thing off.”

“Well, that’s alright. Or did you want New Year off instead?”

“No, not specially. It’s just there are people who do want to be off and I don’t mind, so it seems silly for me to be off,” said Ann, unhappily.

Ann looked uncharacteristically gloomy so Trina joked, “What’s the matter? Don’t you like your family?” and was surprised when Ann flushed angrily and spilled her tea putting her mug down rather too forcefully.

“Come home with me if you like,” said Amy cheerfully.

“Yes, Christmas at Amy’s would be right up your street,” said Juliet, not entirely kindly. She had seen Ann coming out of the hospital chapel a couple of times, and as an unashamed atheist occasionally teased Ann about her faith. “Amy’s dad is a Vicar. They spend Christmas lunch doling out slops to the homeless. Amy invited me once and it didn’t sound like my idea of Christmas at all. I spend enough Saturday nights dealing with the drunk and hopeless without doing it in my time off.” Juliet worked in Accident and Emergency.

Ann looked curiously at Amy. They didn’t know each other that well. Martha and Trina had lived in this shared house the longest. When their last two room mates had moved on Martha had suggested to her friend Ann, who worked with her on the paediatric ward, that she might move in; while Trina had invited one of her fellow midwives, Amy. Apart from the inevitable good mornings outside the bathroom, or offers of tea in the kitchen, they had exchanged very little conversation.

“Really, you should come,” repeated Amy. “You’d be doing me a favour. It’s much easier for me with other people there, otherwise my step-mum and I spend the whole time being terribly polite and awkward around each other.”

“Don’t you get on with her?” asked Martha. “I always used to. I mean, Dad loves her and she’s great for him, and I really liked her to start with. Only a couple of years ago we fell out and it hasn’t been the same since.”

“Go on,” prompted Martha. “Well, Usha - that’s my step-mum, kept something from me that she should have told me. It was about this guy I was seeing, who turned out to be a total jerk, and not worth the fuss in the end, but if she’d said something, I’d have _known…_ I’d have been prepared for the worst. And Dad says she just made a wrong decision for the right reasons, but I think if you know something that someone else needs to know, then you should tell them. Don’t you think?”

“Of course,” said Ann quietly but firmly. “You shouldn’t have to find out you’ve been lied to all along.”

 

XXXXX

 

Juliet was right. It was exactly Ann’s sort of Christmas. They arrived at the Vicarage early in the evening of Christmas Eve. Amy had insisted on stopping in Borchester for fried chicken because, she said, all the food at home would be vegetarian because of Usha. Ann protested that she didn’t mind at all going veggie for a few days. They were welcomed warmly by Alan and Usha. Alan was clearly delighted to see his daughter but made time to greet Ann just as keenly. Ann felt included in an aura of love and warmth which seemed to generate from Alan, despite his air of frazzled busyness. “I have to do a bit of overtime, this time of year.” he joked.

Over a supper of omelette and bread, he explained to Ann that he had to serve three churches. “So it’s midnight mass here, the early service tomorrow in Darrington and Matins in Penny Hassett. But don’t feel obliged to come to any of them if you don’t want - you and Amy deserve every minute of rest you get!”

Amy said that of course she would come to the midnight service, but she was definitely having a good lie-in in the morning. Ann said diffidently that she would like to come to Matins too, if that was alright. Alan seemed pleased, saying that would give him some company for the journey, and Usha and Amy could meet them at the homeless hostel in Borchester afterwards. It was traditional for them to go and help serve Christmas dinner at the homeless shelter, he told Ann, and then have their own Christmas meal in the evening.

Usha unobtrusively cleared plates and brought in homemade mincepies. “Not homemade by me, I have to say,” admitted Usha. “One of Alan‘s devoted parishioners gave them to us.”

Alan and Amy were doing most of the talking, but were perfect hosts, drawing Ann in to the conversation with questions that were easy to answer without being intrusive. Ann was glad no-one asked her anything about her family; maybe Amy had said something to them in advance, or maybe Alan and Usha had drawn the fairly obvious conclusion from the fact that she wasn’t spending Christmas with her own family. Watching Usha and Amy together after the meal when they were washing up, Ann thought they seemed fairly relaxed in each other’s company, and felt uncharacteristically envious. Clearly the breach between them had been at least partially mended; unlike the breach in her own family, which had only widened with the passing years. It had been like a boat leaving harbour, she thought. At first one could have touched hands across the gap, then jumped across, then it was swimming distance; until finally the land was just a humped shape on the horizon, and then not even that - just a line that could have been cloud. After that awful Christmas holiday, school had been a relief. She had been busy enough being firstly a prefect, then head-girl in her last year, to avoid seeing much of Nicola and Lawrie. She missed Ginty after she ran away, of course, but she seemed to be building a successful career as an event rider, even without the support of the family. It was the holidays that had been endured in secret misery until she started her nursing training and was no longer expected to go home for holidays.

“Ann, I think that plate is dry now!” joked Amy. Ann started guiltily. She had been lost in her thoughts, wiping the same plate dry over and over. “I was saying we should go to the pub for an hour before we go to the church,” said Amy. “It’s only just over the village green.”

Ann agreed politely, and soon they were walking into a traditional village pub, heaving with locals full of Christmas cheer, and even more full of the local ale, Shires. Amy knew most of them and soon Ann had been introduced to so many people that their names all swam in a blur. As they waited at the bar, a clean-cut young man chatted to them. He had what Ann recognised as an unmistakeable services demeanour.

“Dan was very taken with you, Ann,” teased Amy, as they took their drinks away in search of a spare table. “He’s a bit young for us, I think, though he has turned out very good looking! I couldn’t go out with anyone in the army though, could you? It just goes against everything Dad’s ever taught me.”

“Yes,” said Ann. “I couldn’t imagine spending my life with someone who’s paid to kill people, for whatever reason.”

“Make tea, not war, that’s what I say,” said Amy, then stopped to greet another friend, as Ann wondered at the liberating effect of saying out loud thoughts that had never been put into words before.

Amy was talking to a thin, intense young woman. When she was introduced to Ann, she enthusiastically started telling Ann about how Amy had almost certainly saved her life when she was pregnant with her little boy. A tall, good looking man appeared at her elbow. “Finished your drink, darling,” he said smoothly. It was a statement, not a question. “We should be getting going.”

“Of course, darling,” replied the woman, hastily putting down her half-full glass. As they parted, Ann was fleetingly and uneasily reminded of her brother Giles. But he was far away at sea where he would neither know nor care that she regularly offered up prayers for his safety.

“Helen is one of the famous Archers,” Amy told her, frowning after the couple. “I don’t think much of her boyfriend though..”

“Who are the famous Archers?” asked Ann.

“Oh, it’s like the Ambridge mafia! They own all the farms round here, and they’re all cousins of each other. And if people aren‘t related to an Archer then they‘re married to one!”

Soon it was time to make the short walk over to the church. Ann and Amy joined Usha in a pew near the front. There, despite the profuse greenery, competitively stunning flower displays and the rustling of Underwoods’ best designer outfits, Ann was able to close her mind to everything except the thought of a baby born in the darkness and bringing light to the world.

 

XXXXX

 

Neither Amy or Usha were up when Ann and Alan left to drive to Matins in Penny Hasset. Both in calmly reflective moods, neither talked much on the way there. After the service though, Alan was buzzing and chatty. As they drove  to the hostel in Borchester, he led Ann on to talk about herself.

Ann confided that she had applied to do VSO and had received an invitation to attend the first interview of the selection process. If she was accepted and all went to plan she could be placed abroad by late spring for an eighteen month contract.

“Gosh, so you won’t be home for Christmas next year either,” said Alan. That was all he said, apparently casually, and then seemed to concentrate on the junction he was navigating. But the friendly gap he had left in the conversation invited words to fill it. To her surprise Ann found herself saying things she had never said before. How alienated she felt from the rest of her family. Being careful not to give away any secret details, how betrayed she had felt when they had shut her out and lied to her - deliberately lied:. And since then how she had only really cared for Karen and Ginty. And how wrong it was to feel that way: she ought to be able to forgive those who betrayed her, like Jesus had, and if she couldn’t, then she was no Christian…. She stopped then, biting her lip. She couldn’t go on.

Alan said, very calmly, “I think even Jesus found that the people who are related to us often understand us the least.”

“But you’re _supposed_ to love your family..” said Ann, embarrassed.

“Love them, yes, but not necessarily like them very much. The Greeks had different words for love, you know. The love Jesus wanted us to show is agape - disinterested and selfless. Philia - brotherly love, can look after itself most of the time.”

“Or not,” said Ann. “It’s my brother I feel worst about. He was supposed to be _in charge_. But he wasn’t.”

“I think you might be being too hard on yourself.” Then shrewdly, “The hardest people to forgive are the ones who don’t want to be forgiven.”

“That’s it!” said Ann, in surprised recognition. “They don’t even know they did anything wrong! They’ve never said sorry, not that we ever do in our family, not directly. But there’s never even been a hint.”

Alan turned the car into a car park and stopped the engine. He paused, thinking. “If you want to talk about this some more later, just let me know. All I can suggest for now, is that, whatever you do, keep the lines of communication open. There may be a time in the future when you or they do want to talk. Don’t make that bridge too hard to cross.” Before Ann could thank him for listening, Amy tapped on the car window, making them both jump.

“Come on, you two,” she said, as they opened the car doors. “There’s lots of starving people wanting their Christmas dinner!” The next two hours were, for Ann, perfectly enjoyable. The other volunteers at the hostel were delighted to see them arrive and soon they were helping serve up turkey with all the trimmings. Ann thought it was a perfect way to spend Christmas.

When they finally returned to the Vicarage she was both thoroughly tired but thoroughly happy. Ann had made and brought a Christmas cake with her. Alan said he would light a fire in the sitting room, so they could have a cosy Christmas tea. Usha boiled the kettle, and Ann cut generous slabs of cake.

“I’ll see how Dad’s getting on,” said Amy. “He always uses too many firelighters.”

Ann followed her through. Alan crouched before the fireplace, poking the furiously leaping flames, which leapt magnificently as the firelighters and paper flared up. There was no other light on in the room so the fire cast a reddish glow, and the flames threw flickering shadows. To Ann’s eyes, coming in from the electric light in the kitchen, the walls seemed to bulge and sway as shadows chased across them. Through a trick of the fiery light a writhing shape on the mantelpiece seemed to move suddenly, and Ann recoiled. A monstrous being danced on the back of a crouching child, encircled by wild flames. Medusa-like, snakes uncoiled from the figure’s head. One leg crouched, the other raised high. Four arms pointed and twisted. Horribly calm, the figure’s face was surmounted by a pile of matted locks.

Luckily no-one had noticed Ann flinch and she felt a silly rush of relief as she realized it was just a bronze ornament. She put down her plate of cake on a side table. Someone switched on a lamp. Having burned itself out in a mad rush, the fire settled to a sulky glow. Amy and Alan bickered amiably about the wrong way to start fires. Usha poured tea. Temporarily unnoticed, Ann’s eyes kept straying back to the dancer in his wheel of fire.

Usha followed her glance. “Admiring my Shiva?” she asked. Was that a hint of needles under the friendly seeming tone? “My brother brought him back from a trip to India.”

“Who is he?” asked Ann politely, hoping her face showed only interest and not the repelled indignation of her first reaction.

“Shiva Nataraja. The lord of the dance. The destroyer,” explained Usha.

“Oh,” said Ann, then feeling the need to say something more, added hurriedly, “I’ve always wondered about the arms. Why they have four, I mean?”

Alan joined in, “They represent different things of course, but it also shows how powerful he is. Haven’t you ever heard your mother say ‘if only she had another pair of hands’?”

Ann thought aloud, “Not my mother, no, but Karen says it – that’s my sister – all the time. Especially since the twins started walking.” Luckily that turned the conversation neatly onto Karen’s children, Jonny and Rollo, and their various attempts to live interesting but short lives around farm animals, dangerous machinery and railway lines. Having settled into safer channels the conversation became more general, light and friendly. Amy found an old Harry Potter film on TV which they half watched, half talked over. They ate supper in front of the TV, snacking on the various food presents that Alan’s parishioners gave him; biscuits with jam and chutney from the W.I. and a rather aggressive blue cheese apparently made by the lady Ann had met in the pub.

At bedtime, Ann thought she was tired enough to sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. But whether it was the cheese, or the contrasting impressions of the day, sleep eluded her. Recurring images rose in her mind and hovered over her sleepless eyes. A wheel of fire, an endless dance of destruction, matted hair spinning away for ever..she slept without knowing she slept and woke from nightmare…..she was crouching in fear as a giant leg and foot was raised above her, coming down on her for ever…. Suddenly relieved to be aware she was awake, she pushed the covers off and sat on the edge of the bed, looking for the light switch in this unfamiliar dark. She found and pressed it, light filled the room, nightmare receded, became trivial.

She sipped from the glass of water on the bedside table, trying to analyze what had bothered her so much. Earlier in the day, Alan had seemed so helpful, so Christian, so .. well, _right,_ in her eyes. But how could anyone who truly believed in everything she did, be so accepting of something so alien, that surely challenged the truth of their own belief? Or was she herself wrong? Was she the one who was narrow-minded and bigoted, as the others had implied when she had tried to say something about Nicola going to Patrick’s Latin masses.

It had been a secret relief to her that Nicola seemed to be less interested in that since starting at Oxford. She had always been repelled by Patrick’s brand of religion, which always seemed to be more about rules and rituals, than actually doing what Jesus had said and trying to make the world a better place.

She sighed. People like Patrick never seemed to get worried about what was right and wrong the way she did. Unless perhaps they did, and it just never showed. She realized she was about to worry herself into all-night wakefulness. She would have to try and talk to Alan in the morning, she thought, and reached for her paperback. After a couple of chapters, the book worked its effect, and she felt sleepy enough to turn off the light again.

 

XXXXXX

 

Ann found her chance to talk to Alan later that day. After a lazy morning, Amy had said she was going to call on her friend Alice and Ann had refused her polite suggestion that Ann come along: clearly Alice was a good friend and they would have plenty to catch up on. Alan and Usha had gone for a walk, so Ann was temporarily left alone. She fetched her sketchbook and her tin of pencils, and sat herself on a stool close to the fire in the sitting room.

She had determined she was not going to be repelled or horrified, she was going to look at the dancer properly and she was going to draw him. She drew in much the same way as she played piano. Throughout school, she had practised regularly and diligently. Without the flashes of passion or despair which inspired Lawrie’s acting, she became competent and skilful without ever being regarded as an artistic talent. Now she drew for pleasure and relaxation, often amusing the children on the ward with little sketches of their teddy wrapped in bandages or their favourite cartoon character telling them to get well soon.

She looked carefully at the model of Shiva and drew steadily. The house was quiet. Only the crackle of the fire and the occasional sound of a log settling as it burned down could be heard. As her pencil recreated the lines on the page, she became aware of the beauty of the endless dance, the perfectly contained energy shown in his arms and legs, the timeless serenity of his face under his flowing hair, the eternal circle of flames endlessly turning… Absorbed in her work, she didn’t hear the voices in the kitchen, and the sitting room door opening startled her.

She didn’t have time to put the book away, as Alan, glowing from his walk in the wintry countryside, burst in. He saw the picture, exclaimed admiringly, called Usha to have a look, and Ann felt thoroughly embarrassed.

“I hope you don’t mind me drawing it,” she asked uncertainly.

“Of course not!” said Alan. “I could see you were fascinated by him last night!”

"I expect you were wondering why the Vicar would tolerate a pagan idol sitting on his mantelpiece," said Usha lightly. Ann felt herself flushing scarlet, but looking at Usha saw that a faint smile was twitching her mouth.

"Yes, some of my parishioners have given it some very suspicious glances over the years," joked Alan.

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about ... Shiva.." said Ann hesitantly.

"Well, don't be afraid to ask," said Usha.

"It looks like he's standing on a child?" hazarded Ann.

"It's a dwarf, not a child. The dwarf represents ignorance - our ignorance and illusion."

"Illusion?"

"The human soul craves to return to Brahman, but it gets trapped in the illusion that is this world. Only when we realise that our world is impermanent and illusory can we escape and reach union with Brahman."

"Sorry, who's Brahman?"

"Brahman is God... the absolute...the ultimate reality."

"So what's Shiva?"

"We believe God is one. But Brahman is so beyond human comprehension that we are allowed to approach him in ways that are easier for our simple minds to understand and recognise. All the gods and goddesses are manifestations of Brahman....Shiva is the destroyer. But his destruction is a creative act. He destroys the old so that the new can be created. The world dies and is reborn as he dances, but always the soul is looking to escape the cycle and return to God."

 

XXXXX

 

Ann was silent, thinking, as they cleared a table for tea. Usha was in the kitchen heating up some soup, when Alan said, "Is there something still bothering you, Ann?"

Ann felt herself flushing again. "No. Well, yes, sort of, but it's nothing really."

"Go on. If it's bothering you, it is something."

"It's just.. well. when I go abroad I could be sent anywhere. I mean, probably not a Christian country.."

"Are you afraid it might be dangerous?"

"Oh no! I'm not frightened of anything - like that...It's just, I feel....Well, people believe such different things, don't they? And it worries me thinking about it .... well, what if they're wrong?"

"Or what if we're wrong?" For a moment they were both silent while the only sound was the hissing of the fire between them. Then Alan said, "Hindus believe that there are many different paths to God.No one path is the 'right' way. You have to follow the path from where you are."

Ann said nothing, still frowning slightly. Alan looked at her kindly. "Your work may be your pathway," he added. "Have faith in God to worry about everything else."

 

XXXXX

 

Ann and Amy went home late the next day. They had been out for a long walk earlier up Lakey Hill. At the top they had stood in the bracing wind and admired the rolling farmland spread out beneath them , a view that reminded Ann of home.

It pleased her to think that if everything went to plan, in a years time she could be looking at a very different view on a different continent. It was dark and rainy as they drove back into Birmingham. The familiar dingy streets near their flat were almost deserted. Rubbish had been scattered over the pavement from a burst bin bag. Newly spray painted graffiti gleamed wetly in the yellow light of the street lamps. It was drab and dirty compared to the idyllic village they were returning from, yet Ann felt oddly happy. Christmas had been really enjoyable in quite a different way from usual. When she emailed her mother - and perhaps Karen -later, it was going to be hard to explain exactly why it had been so enjoyable. Or why it had made her feel so refreshed and ready to return to the life she loved. It occurred to her with a slight start that she hadn't even thought of phoning Trennels while she had been in Ambridge, and yet that thought was followed by none of the usual guilt. Perhaps it really didn't matter any more. Words she had heard the day before and only half understood reformed in her head. The old must be destroyed so the new can be created. She felt a liberating sense of freedom opening up before her. Her destroyed old world could be left behind because she was moving on to a new life of her own making.


End file.
